The Flower Will Spout
by Browlax
Summary: Michael Myers has a dear friend, Makayla. On Halloween of 1963, she had witnessed him cuffed for the purpose of murdering his sister. Together, they feel a sensation they never felt in between each other as they grew much older. When Michael escapes Smith's Grove, he cannot remember her, forever sadly. They have seen each other the day before. Later on, she is emotionally broken.
1. Chapter 1

On the Halloween night of 1963, there was a young boy, and was well known on his street with a large majority of neighbors. His name was Michael Myers.  
Young Michael sat on his front porch, eating sweet candy and milky chocolate, which was smeared all over his tiny fingers, and not once did he forget to lick and suck it off. In front of his large home was his dearest friend's home, Makayla. Oh, what kindness she shared with Michael, for she was very well known in her neighborhood as well.

As Michael finished his Mr. Goodbar, he locked his brown eyes on the focused girl and grinned as he knew he had a chance to speak with her.  
"Makayla!", he shouted loud enough for her to hear his charming, young voice, nervous for her to walk up to his porch.

"Michael!", she called back, a large smile revealing her kiddish smile. The night before, she lost her tooth, which was her first one too.  
"Come here!" Michael gestured for her to come to his porch with his small, gentle hand.

And so Makayla came. She ran in her clown costume, which was the same one Michael was wearing. Her pace settled down as she walked up the concrete steps. Her brown hair flopped up and down on her shoulders, which caught Michael's attention.  
"What did you get?", she asked curiously, hoping he would be willing to offer a trade.

"Mrs. Blankenship gave me an enormous amount," Michael said with his arms opening wide to represent what he meant in 'a lot.'  
Makayla giggled and cooed, and it was so cute even Michael had to comment on it.

"I like your laugh," he smiled in confidence.

"That's what my Mom tells me everyday," Melissa said as she adjusted her narrow strains of light hair.

Michael's eyes trailed down into Makayla's candy bag and noticed so many treats he didn't even get that he absolutely loved. As he did, Makayla then looked down into his plastic pumpkin and saw treats she was appealed to. With words creeping up their throats, they were both afraid they wouldn't accept their offers they were going to make.

"Michael, can I have that Hershey's bar for my Mr. Goodbar?", Makayla yearned, holding up her large candy bag.

"Sure you-" Michael's eyes widened.

"What?"  
"That's what I wanted from you! Mr. Goodbar's are my favorite!", Michael claimed in jubilation, exciting himself.

"I know Michael," Makayla said with a simple laugh.

Michael picked up his big Hershey's bar, and while doing so, Makayla was prepared with her Mr. Goodbar. Together, they could feel a twinkling sensation between their atmospheres. Michael was proud to have a fantastic friendship with Makayla. He was reluctant for her to leave his house, and so was she. He felt comfortable and safe around her, and so did she. Their time together was a precious treasure to the both of them.

"Do you want to come down tomorrow? We can still finish our candy."

"Of course Michael," she smiled, her slender fingers going up and then down once again on his hand.

He smiled.

"Oh no," Makayla said in sorrow, "I just heard my mother call my name. See you tomorrow, Michael."

"Ok," he replied, his head drooping and his shaggy blonde hair covering his entire forehead.

"Bye," their words tumbled at the same time, very reluctant to be apart.

Something hit Michael. Something so strong, and surprisingly, physically painful to his young soul and being. As he walked out of his house, he had nothing planned for what he wanted to do. And then, suddenly, the strong sensation began to make his control very puny.

He decided he'd walk around a bit after eating all of that sugar. He walked on the concrete sidewalk, his strains of hair flowing in his eyes.  
This wind sure is annoying when it makes my hair get in my eyes.

Ignoring the gushing cold wind, he continued to walk.

Then, he thought of his sister, Judith. In her bedroom, her and her boyfriend made love romantically. Michael had no clue for what they were up to. All he knew was to stay out of her room, for she angrily commanded him to stay out through the whole night till midnight.

Michael could feel the sensation take over his entire being. In his heart, he knew he was afraid, but then, he figured it was something else. Not until he walked up to his house's front door.

He watched Judith and her boyfriend rub each other's sides, laughing and smiling. He figured it was a simple act of love, but in advance, it was sexual. As they ran upstairs, Judith's boyfriend grabbed Michael's creepy clown mask.

For a long while, Michael did not feel his vocal chords working. When he tried to speak, his voice was raspy, making his fear increase. Then, he went behind the house, the sensation simply and automatically forcing him to crave. To crave for the kill.

With his right hand, he opened the kitchen drawer, pulling out a large, clean kitchen knife. His feet lead him towards the flight of stairs, and, a split moment later, Judith's boyfriend slipped his blue shirt on.

"Call me tomorrow?", Judith asked from above.

Then, Michael realized there would be no tomorrow for Judith. His heart hammered as his hand began to tremble with the knife in it's grasp. His foot then met contact with the step. He repeated the process, slowly but quietly. His whole body began to tremble.

He found his clown mask lying on the hardwood floor of his bedroom as he hit the very top, and picking it up, he pulled the back strap and properly placed it around his head. He could feel the andrealine in him course, like it was some natural element of him.

Walking through his bedroom, Michael eyed his sister topless and only in her underwear. She beautifully hummed to herself, stroking every strand of her light hair with her hairbrush. Michael had made it to his final moment he'd been patient for.

Judith turned around, and in anger and shock, she shouted with a loud voice, "Michael!"

The instrument plunged into her bare chest, and with the severe pain, she frantically screamed, trying to block the knife. It kept plunging everywhere in her, for she knew she was puny and dying. Her vision was very blurry, and she rarely saw Michael's small form.

Judith's body went limp, and with a wicked look in his black eyes, Michael glared into her body. Heavily breathing, he ran downstairs.

Going outside, he saw his parent's headlights pull up into their driveway. Racing out of their car, they had wondered why there was a bloody knife in their son's small hand of rage. They assumed things were going to get bad.

"Michael?", his father frowned in concern as he lifted his mask off his face.

That face. So cold, expressionless, and blank. Michael had dazed off into the nightlight, sucking in his bottom lip. His parents looked into his eyes and noticed what he had done. His mother ran into the house, taking notice of Judith's limp body cold on the bedroom floor. She screamed, crying so much she couldn't believe what she witnessed.

Michael was carried in his father's arms. He took the kitchen knife and threw it aside, holding a strong grip of his son. He paced upstairs, and before he believed it, he saw his daughter's body on the cold, hardwood floor.

"Why?! Oh my Judith, why?!", Michael's mother cried, almost slapping her own son in the face. Her husband pulled her back from Michael.  
"Michael, you have some explaining to do," his father frowned at him, crossing his arms.

No longer was there a sign of humanity exposed on Michael. His young soul was consumed by such darkness, but it only 'seemed' like a normal feeling to him before. His eyes were so black nobody could read them. He didn't even think of Makayla for one moment.

He could hear and sense cop sirens race down his street. Their breaks slid straight across the paved road, leaving large marks of tire tracks. Michael looked out and saw one policeman walk out with a cup of coffee in his hand and a frosted doughnut in the other.

Makayla was awaken by the police.

She rubbed the exhaustion off of her blue eyes, waking to her senses. She witnessed her best friend handcuffed into one of the police cars. Her sweet soul had craved for a reason why this witness happened before her eyes. A narrow tear slid down her pale cheek, for the sorrow she felt affected her.  
"NO, Michael!", she screamed into her colorful pillow as she settled underneath her thermal blankets. The pillow was stained by her constant tears.

"WHY?!"

The end of her day did not turn out as she expected. Michael was her all. She loved him just as much as she loved her plush rabbit her mother gave to her before she died. Michael was her bunny. She needed him like he needed her, and now, the effection can no longer take action.


	2. Lost

Oh, the painful sorrow young Makayla experienced. She went through a whole box of tissues in an hour. She hadn't had a bit of rest the night before, since Michael was stuck to her brain like crazy glue. Her head was in between her knees for most of the time, and her messy hair concealed her young, beautiful features.

Her father, Adam, had a tint green colored cup in his hands, which was filled with warm tea. Makayla's favorite drink in the morning was tea. Any sort of tea. Weeping more than before, she grabbed five tissues at once, the feeling of her hair making her feel uncomfortable, and she felt so stressed she wanted to yank out the loose strands.

"Princess, I brought you some tea," Adam said softly, setting the warm cup on a fancy mini plate with pink flowers surrounding it.

Makayla's head jerked up as she heard "tea." At least a pinch of excitement came to her, as she thought so.

"Thank you Daddy," she weakly grinned, carefully placing her tiny hands around the cup.

"You're welcome." Adam pressed his lips against her lips, his hands cupped, feeling such sorrow for his daughter. He knew Michael Myers very well. He loved him as much as he loved Makayla because he made quite a beautiful friendship with her. He thought of him as his own son.

When Adam heard the news about Michael murdering Judith, his heart broke and weeped. This young, sweet boy suddenly outraged with an invincible force, and nobody expected it. There were no signs of him consuming this rage and force. At least nobody noticed anything.

"Daddy?"

"Yes honey?", Adam's head snapped up so his green eyes could focus on Makayla.

"I miss Mommy. I wish she was here. She could understand Michael is gone and would help, just like you do." She weakly smiled.

"I know, Makayla. I wish she was here too. We both could help you together. I know if she was here right now, she'd miss Michael too, just like you and me do."

"Yeah."

With the old thought of her mother and the thought of Michael taken away, her puffy eyes squeezed shut. She felt tears well up in her eyes, and when she began to cry, she leaned her head against Adam's side. Her feet cramped. And so did her heart.

"Ooh, Makayla," Adam said, "I have an idea."

"What?", Makayla whimpered with a shrill voice.

"How about I take you to visit Michael at Smith's Grove sometime?"

Makayla could feel her heart start to mend at a minimum.

"Really?"

"Yes really!"

With gratitude and tears, Makayla outstretched her thin arms around Adam's sides, and kissed his cheek. "Thank you so much Daddy!"

"You're welcome dear!", he replied happily with his nose cuddled against the young girl's.

Michael's first day in Smith's Grove sure wasn't the brightest.

He wore snow white clothes and was bare foot. Yet, he could still feel his rage and power inside of him, for the wicked was revealed. He was told he was going to meet a British doctor the following morning, Dr. Samuel Loomis. This certain doctor wasn't just any ordinary doctor, because he cared for his role, and what was most important to him was to seek what functioned in Michael's young head. He found an interest in seeking for reasons for why he went in the institution, and so, he pursued it.

In front of the wise doctor was his new patient, Michael Myers, and waiting patiently, he began his work.

"Hello there, Michael. My name is Dr. Samuel Loomis, and from now on, I will be your doctor." Dr. Loomis could feel the boy's black eyes consume something like a twisted sensation as they glared without emotion in his. It startled him at first, but as he made progress with this child, he began to get used to it.

"Hm. You seem silent. Can you speak with me?", he asked with his hand gestured across his face, trying to catch his attention.

No reply.

"...I see," the doctor said, squinting his blue eyes and twiddling his thumbs in stress. He was already feeling the feeling of irritation as this boy seemed to not do a thing.

"Could you write or express what is going on in your head right now, Michael?"

"Michael?"

Michael finally looked down at the white paper in front of him. Picking up the red pen provided, his hand began to lead him into what his brain produced. For a six-year-old child, Dr. Loomis had nothing but a clue for why he lacked humanity.

As he finished his mysterious writing, Michael placed his hands under the table, watching Dr. Loomis's wrinkly hand meet in contact with the sheet of paper.

"Hm, I understand what you are trying to expose to me," he nodded, scratching his chin and then pausing for a moment.

"Allow me to take you to your cell, please," Dr. Loomis pointed out, grabbing Michael's twitching hand.

With trembling knees and an outstretched arm towards Dr. Loomis, Michael grabbed his hand. This new place. It was already his home, and very unlike living with his family.

Michael's feet automatically guided him to his cell. It was very odd because he wasn't too enthusiastic to stay in a small, plain room that was unlike his old bedroom back at home. The home he used to live in. Then, he had to develop the feeling of the cell as his "bedroom", though he was reluctant to. He dragged sluggishly. The floor was chilly cold, which affected him and made him want to settle under a thermal blanket to keep warm- which is what he would expect because the nurses wouldn't only provide him with a stale, tattered mattress.

The smell of the cell was perhaps like the smell of a beautiful flower, which pleased Michael. He could tell the nurses prepared the room well, but Smith's Grove in general wasn't a fancy hotel. Dr. Loomis still held his patient's hand, and had a very tight grip in case something unfortunate happens, likely because it was possible.

Clearing his throat, Dr. Loomis began to speak surely. "This is where you'll stay, Michael," he assured Michael.

With a bizarre look, Dr. Loomis glared into Michael and noticed something unusual about him. At the moment, he looked very dazed, and Loomis could infer he was almost fascinated to step foot in his new cell.

"Michael, I hope you are comfortable to stay in here. I will stay with you for four hours each day to discuss with you," Dr. Loomis said. "I will be back later."

* * *

**Hello everyone. It's me, Dalilah. I had an alternative account I was using, since my Google account was no longer used because of my Mother. She gave me the privileges back, so I now am back home. :D I apologize for not updating at all in two-three months. I am updating each one of my stories ASAP.**

**Enjoy! P.S.- I missed you all so much. :)**


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